The final bell rang like freedom.
Chairs scraped loudly against the floor, students flooding the hallway in a rush of laughter and relief. Emily packed her bag slowly, shoulders sagging as the weight of the day finally settled in.
Jane leaned against her desk. "Tell me you're not going straight to work."
Emily groaned. "I wish. I've got like… an hour. Maybe less."
"That's criminal," Jane said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "You should be illegal levels of tired by now."
"Already am," Emily replied, standing. "They just keep adding shifts like I don't need sleep or something."
They walked out together, the late afternoon sun washing the school steps in warm orange light. The air felt calmer now, quieter—like the world finally exhaled after holding its breath all day.
Jane stretched her arms overhead. "So. Same routine?"
"Yep," Emily said. "Home. Snack. Complain about life. Then coffee abuse."
Jane laughed. "Classic Emily."
They reached the sidewalk, slowing their pace.
"You ever think about just… not going?" Jane asked casually.
Emily snorted. "Every day. Then I remember I like having electricity."
"Fair point."
Jane bumped her shoulder lightly. "Hey, though—don't burn yourself out, okay?"
Emily glanced at her. "You sound serious."
"I am," Jane said. "You've been running on empty."
Emily looked away, eyes following the street ahead. "I don't really have a choice."
Jane didn't push it. She rarely did.
"Well," she said, forcing a lighter tone, "text me when you get home alive."
Emily smiled faintly. "Will do."
They split at the corner, Jane waving as she headed the other way.
"Don't die at work!" Jane called.
"No promises!" Emily shouted back.
Emily's apartment greeted her with silence.
She dropped her bag near the door and kicked off her shoes, shoulders finally relaxing. The place smelled faintly of detergent and yesterday's coffee.
"Home sweet… barely functional home," she muttered.
She went straight to the kitchen, opening the fridge and staring inside like it might magically produce something decent.
"Why do I even work if all I eat is snacks?" she complained to no one.
She grabbed a pack of instant noodles and a half-empty juice carton, tossing them onto the counter. As the kettle heated, she leaned against the counter, rubbing her temples.
"Another shift. Same faces. Same fake smiles."
She sighed.
"At least it's almost over…"
She carried the cup back to her room, sitting on the edge of the bed as she slurped noodles, phone buzzing softly beside her.
Work was coming.
And she really, really didn't feel like facing it.
Above the screen, unnoticed, the countdown slipped closer to zero.
Her phone vibrated.
Not a notification buzz.
Not a text.
A deep, heavy vibration—like something urgent.
Emily frowned, noodles halfway to her mouth.
"Huh?"
She glanced at the screen.
DELIVERY COMPLETE.
Before she could process the words—
BOOM.
The entire apartment shook.
"What the—?!"
The cup slipped from her hands, noodles splashing onto the floor as a second sound followed—a loud, metallic crash right outside her door. The walls trembled, dust drifting from the ceiling.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"What the hell was that…?"
Silence followed. Thick. Heavy.
Emily stood frozen, every nerve screaming.
Okay.
Okay, calm down.
"It's probably… nothing," she whispered, even though she didn't believe it.
Her hands were shaking as she stepped closer to the door. Each step felt wrong, like walking toward something she was never meant to see.
She reached for the handle.
Paused.
Took a breath.
Then slowly pulled the door open.
Something massive filled the hallway.
Emily's breath caught in her throat.
In front of her apartment sat a large, round, glass-like egg, almost as tall as the doorframe. Its surface shimmered with shifting patterns of light—blue, silver, and soft white pulses glowing from deep inside. Thin lines of energy crawled across it like veins.
The floor beneath it was cracked.
"…Okay," Emily whispered. "What the actual—"
She stepped back, pressing herself against the doorframe.
"This isn't happening."
The egg hummed softly, alive. And then she noticed something on its surface.
A symbol.
A glowing palm-shaped mark, faintly pulsing as if waiting.
Her chest tightened.
"Nope. Nope. Nope."
She laughed weakly, running a hand through her hair. "I'm dreaming. This is a stress dream. I worked too much."
Her phone vibrated again in her pocket.
She didn't look.
"Calm down, Em," she muttered. "Just… calm down."
Against every instinct screaming at her to run, she stepped forward.
The glow brightened.
"…Oh my god."
She raised her hand, hovering inches from the mark.
"Just touch it and it disappears," she whispered. "That's how dreams work, right?"
Her palm met the symbol.
The egg reacted instantly.
With a sharp snap, the surface split down the middle, glowing lines tearing apart as the shell unfolded in smooth, mechanical layers. Panels slid away with precise, advanced movements, releasing a burst of warm air and a low, resonant hum.
Lights flickered.
The egg opened completely.
Emily's knees nearly gave out.
Inside was a man.
Naked, suspended in a cradle of light and transparent mechanisms. Long bluish hair spilled over his shoulders, drifting as if underwater. His body was flawless—too perfect, sculpted like something designed rather than born.
His face—
Emily's breath stopped.
"…No way…"
He was impossibly handsome. Sharp jaw. Soft lips. Features so unreal they felt wrong, like something pulled straight from a screen.
Her screen.
The light dimmed.
The mechanisms withdrew.
His body settled gently onto the base of the opened shell.
And then—
His eyes fluttered open.
Bright. Focused.
They locked onto Emily.
Her heart dropped straight into her stomach.
He stared at her like he knew her.
Like he had been waiting.
His lips parted, and he spoke—soft, fluid words in a language she didn't understand. It sounded ancient and digital at the same time, echoing faintly in the hallway.
Emily took a shaky step back.
"No…" she whispered.
Her mind raced, memories crashing together—the character creator, the stats, the hair, the protector role.
"…That's impossible."
She swallowed hard.
"That's… you."
Her voice trembled.
"You're the character I created."
The man continued to look at her, eyes unreadable.
And for the first time since she clicked CREATE, Emily understood—
This was never a game.
And whatever she had made…
Was real.