The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed above the dorm hall of AUP. At this hour—ten minutes before midnight it was supposed to be quiet. Supposed to. Instead, the air vibrated with the familiar mix of laughter, trash talk, and the clicks of mouses echoing like a rhythm section in an orchestra.
"Bro, don't int again!" someone yelled.
Ji leaned closer to his laptop, eyes locked on the glowing Rift. His champion Lucian sidestepped a jungle gank, unloading his Piercing Light into a hapless Yasuo.
"Man, you said don't int, but look who's already 0–5," Ji shot back, his grin wicked.
"Lag, bro, lag!" Yasuo's player yelled from across the room.
"Lag?" Ji laughed, leaning back against his chair.
"Yeah, sure. Maybe you lagged straight into my combo."
The others burst into laughter, their voices bouncing off the thin dorm walls. Someone mimicked the announcer voice: 'An ally has been slain.'
The smell of instant noodles and reheated rice filled the air, faintly competing with the strong whiff of too many unwashed socks. College dorm life wasn't pretty, but for Ji, this was its own kingdom. A second-year AB English student, he was supposed to be writing an essay about Shakespeare's tragedies. Instead, he was perfecting his aim in League of Legends and warming up for Arena Breakout later.
"Alright, alright," another voice cut in.
"We win the next teamfight, or I'm uninstalling. For real this time."
Ji smirked. He'd heard that before.
The teamfight broke out at Baron pit. Chaos. Flashing swords, spells, screams. Ji's fingers danced over the keys, Lucian weaving in and out like a phantom, firing precisely, dodging just in time.
Then it came: the clean-up.
"DOUBLE KILL!"
"TRIPLE KILL!"
Ji's grin stretched ear to ear as the dorm erupted.
"Man, Ji is smurfing again!"
"Of course he is. Dude plays like he's Challenger stuck in Iron."
Ji only chuckled, taking a long sip from his half-empty mug of instant coffee.
"You boys can keep farming. Daddy will carry."
When the Nexus exploded, the room filled with groans and laughter. Someone threw a pillow at him. Ji leaned back, triumphant.
But his night wasn't done.
"Alright, swap games. Arena Breakout time," someone suggested.
"Bet." Ji cracked his knuckles and switched over, the screen flickering into the darker, more tactical world of extraction shooters. His mood shifted, calmer but sharper.
The first round began.
"Watch left side," Ji murmured, his voice dropping into something focused, clipped.
"Ji, chill. It's just a warm-up."
But Ji wasn't chilling. His character crept through dim hallways, gun raised, senses on edge. The rustle of footsteps echoed. Ji called it before it happened.
"Two enemies, low gear. Wait."
A beat later, gunfire erupted. Ji's squad mowed them down with efficiency.
"Bro, how'd you know?"
"Game sense," Ji said simply, reloading.
But his smirk returned a second later.
"Or maybe I'm psychic. Wanna test?"
The match ended in their favor, extraction successful. His teammates cheered; Ji just leaned back, stretching.
The games went on deep into the night. Some drifted to bed. Others scrolled on their phones. Ji, though, stayed awake, his laptop humming faintly. He closed it at last, the adrenaline ebbing away.
Silence settled. The kind that makes you notice the little things: the whirr of a fan, the distant bark of a dog outside the dorm, the faint rustle of wind against the glass.
Ji rubbed his eyes, reaching for his water bottle. That's when he noticed it.
On his desk, between his books and half-crumpled notes, something was lying there. A scroll.
He froze.
"...Huh?" he muttered, blinking.
It hadn't been there before. No one had entered his room. Yet it rested there as though it had always belonged aged parchment bound by threads of faint light, its edges glowing softly.
Ji reached for it, hesitant at first. The surface was warm, pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat. He frowned.
"Must be too much caffeine," he whispered.
"I'm hallucinating."
But the scroll unfurled by itself, letters spilling into the air like ink dissolving in water.
Words. Floating words. Sentences written in no language he'd ever seen, yet somehow he understood them.
Heaven's Draft.
Stroke of one who writes shall shape the world.
Ji's throat went dry. He stared, half in awe, half in disbelief.
Then, without warning, the dorm began to blur.
The walls melted first, dissolving like watercolor dripping on canvas. The hum of the fan stretched into silence. His bed, his desk, his scattered clothes—they shimmered, breaking into particles of glowing script.
Ji staggered back, clutching the desk.
"The heck—?"
But fear didn't grip him. Instead, a strange calm washed over him. It felt dreamlike, as though he were floating between breaths.
The words surrounded him, swirling like fireflies. Some pressed gently against his skin. Others seeped into his chest, burning without pain.
He reached out instinctively, fingers brushing one glowing phrase. It pulsed like a heartbeat.
Then the floor gave way. Ji's last thought before the light consumed him wasn't terror. It wasn't confusion. It was laughter.
"Man… this better not be a loading screen."