The soft glow of my computer monitor bathed the room in a soothing pale blue haze, illuminating the chaos that surrounded me. Shadows stretched long across the floor, curling around empty soda cans stacked haphazardly beside my desk like makeshift monuments to late-night battles and caffeine-fueled strategy sessions. The floor was a patchwork of notebooks covered in intricate hand-drawn maps, detailed logistics diagrams, and carefully crafted strategy plans, each page a testament to the countless hours spent in this digital realm.
This space was my sanctuary, my escape from the outside world. As midnight approached, the weight of the day began to lift, and I logged into *Kaiserfront: Age of Dominion*. The moment the loading screen vanished, I felt a shift in my reality.
Within this digital landscape, I transformed. I wasn't the awkward kid hiding in the back of the classroom, nor the quiet one whose voice was often drowned out by the laughter of others. Here, I was a ruler—an architect of vast empires. I meticulously charted trade routes, balanced resources with a keen eye, managed manpower as if guiding an intricate ballet, and led armies into battle with unwavering precision and strategic foresight.
In *Kaiserfront*, intelligence was paramount; strategy was everything. Each decision could turn the tide of war or lead to disastrous defeat.
Reality had never been so accommodating.
Back in school, I often felt like a ghost—either invisible to my peers or a target for their ridicule, depending on the mood of the day. My classmates would snicker whenever I excitedly shared obscure facts or insightful thoughts on topics they deemed unworthy of attention. My treasured strategy notebooks, filled with colorful diagrams and complex formulas, were dismissed as nothing more than "nerd junk." With each dismissive comment, I learned that silence became a safer refuge than risking the sting of scorn. Yet, as I immersed myself in the game, fragments of those painful memories resurfaced.
—Winning an online tournament at two in the morning, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I raised my fists in triumphant joy, dancing alone in my dimly lit room as victory echoed in my ears.
—Dropping my meticulously organized strategy notebook in the bustling hallway, the laughter that followed ringing harshly in my ears, the mocking voice labeling it my "nerd bible."
—Answering a challenging question in class, confidence surging within me, only to feel my voice crack halfway through, the laughter of my peers ringing in the background like a cruel taunt.
—Making an attempt to join a conversation during group activities, only to watch a classmate turn away mid-sentence, their disinterest palpable.
Out there, victories were scarce, often overshadowed by hurtful moments and lost connections.
In here, logic triumphed; I thrived amid calculated risks and strategic planning.
With a quiet sigh, I powered down the monitor, the soft blue glow gradually fading as the digital world slipped away, leaving my room enveloped in an all-consuming darkness once again. The inevitability of tomorrow loomed ahead, bringing with it the relentless routine of school and the familiar necessity of masking any hint of concern or emotion behind a practiced facade, ready to tackle another day.
**The Next Day**
The classroom hummed with its usual morning commotion—voices overlapping in chatter, chairs scraping against the floor, and the soft shuffle of papers being passed around. I sat tucked away at the back, pretending to be interested in the open textbook before me while my mind wandered to the supply chain I'd fine-tuned during last night's Kaiserfront session: ports, manpower distribution, and inland routes.
"John?"
A gentle voice cut through my thoughts. I blinked, snapping back to the present, and lifted my gaze. Fiona Hale stood beside my desk, her vice-president badge pinned neatly to her uniform. She had known me since childhood—long before school hierarchies, before people decided who mattered and who didn't.
"You're zoning out again," she whispered, brows knit with concern. "You haven't said a word all morning."
"I'm fine," I muttered, gripping my pencil. "Just thinking."
offered a faint smile. "About the game?"
"Maybe."
She sighed gently. "I don't mind, John. I just… you've been acting strange lately. If something's bothering you, you can tell me."
Before I could answer, a palm slammed onto my desk.
"Well, well. Emperor John himself."
Angelo towered above me, his posture exuding confidence, and his smug grin clearly designed to draw in the attention of anyone nearby. Just behind him, Charles and James stood close together, their laughter already spilling into the air. At the rear, Kim kept his distance; his slight frame and restless eyes betrayed a nervous energy. He trailed the others not out of malice, but from a desire for the protection their presence seemed to offer.
"No kingdom in real life," Charles snorted, flicking a pen at me. "So he conquers pixels instead."
James leaned in closer. "Maybe if you used that brain on real stuff, you wouldn't be such a loser."
I hunched over my desk, heat creeping up my neck, wishing I could disappear.
"Enough."
Fiona stepped forward, her voice sharp.
She crossed her arms, her eyes blazing. "That's his. Back off."
Angelo scoffed. "Relax. Someone's got to babysit him."
"Someone should," Fiona shot back. "Since you clearly can't grow up."
For a moment, the room held its breath—
Then—
DING.
A single bell rang through the classroom. Not the school bell. This sound was deeper, metallic, resonant. It vibrated in my chest and in my bones.
Every conversation stopped.
A translucent blue screen flickered into existence before me. Not just me. Before everyone.
Gasps rippled across the room as identical holographic windows hovered in the air. Stark, impersonal text appeared:
**YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED. PREPARE FOR TRANSFER.**
"What… what is this?" I whispered, looking at Fiona as she stepped back.
My blood ran cold. "Fiona… this isn't a game UI. I've never seen anything like this."
The floor trembled. Desks rattled.
A vast magic circle flared to life beneath our feet, spreading swiftly across the classroom floor. Intricate runes, ancient and indecipherable, burned themselves into the tiles, each glowing rhythmically as if driven by the beat of a living heart.
Panic exploded.
"Is this real?!" "Get a teacher!" "What's happening?!"
Fiona grabbed my wrist. "John—stay with me!"
The glow intensified.
Golden text appeared above the circle:
**ONLY 700 MILLION WERE SELECTED FROM YOUR WORLD. TRANSFER INITIATED.**
The walls shook. Lights flickered violently. A chill ran through me.
This wasn't entertainment. This wasn't human.
Bands of glowing energy wrapped around wrists across the room. I felt one lock around mine—cold, heavy, and final. Students screamed. Others froze. Some collapsed
Out of our entire class, only twelve of us glowed.
"Why us…?" I whispered, my voice breaking.
The circle erupted. Light surged upward like a supernova. The floor fractured beneath us, reality tearing open.
"John!" "Fiona!" I cried.
I reached for her—
Angelo stumbled forward in panic, crashing into her. Charles collided with me. Kim grabbed Fiona instinctively to steady himself—and tore her away from my grasp.
"FIONA!" I screamed.
"JOHN! HOLD ON!"
Light swallowed her whole. The room dissolved. Gravity vanished. My body felt like it was being torn apart, scattered into fragments of light.
The last thing I saw—Fiona's face. Tearful. Determined. Calling my name.
Then—
Nothing.