The moon hung in the night sky, casting its soft silver light across a particular city on Earth.
Inside a single dim room, a young man sat hunched in a gaming chair, bloodshot eyes locked onto the screen in front of him. The glow from the monitor was the only light in the room, painting his face in pale blue and white.
On the screen, his character was locked in a fierce combat with a massive wolf-like monster. Claws flashed, health bars dipped quickly, cooldowns ticked down one painful second at a time.
*Click! Click! Click!* The rapid sound of his fingers hammering the keys, together with the faint, straining hum of his gaming setup, filled the tense room.
The air around him smelled wrong. Old takeout boxes. Crushed snack wrappers. Empty cups that had once held something caffeinated and were now developing an odor. The mixture gave the room a repulsive stench, the kind that would have driven anyone else out hours ago.
But not him. He didn't seem bothered at all.
Why would he?
The stench clinging to his own body was worse. He hadn't bathed in days; that much was painfully obvious. His hair was greasy, his clothes wrinkled and stale, and his skin carried a smell stinkier than the trash surrounding him. His eyes were red and dry from too many hours staring at a screen without rest. He hadn't slept properly in ages, yet despite how exhausted he looked, his focus burned with frightening intensity.
Like his life depended on it.
In a way, it did.
The young man's name was Abel.
Yes. *That*Abel.
Turns out his grandmother had a twisted sense of humor. He was supposed to be a twin. The other one didn't make it, died in the womb. Naming him Abel afterward had felt poetic to her.
Cruel, too.
Luckily, she died not long after his birth. A small mercy. His few memories of her weren't pleasant ones, and that alone told him enough.
Anyway.
Abel was what most people would call an unemployed final boss, the kind of unemployed where people eventually stop asking what you're doing with your life because they already know the answer. If someone wanted to be polite, they'd call him a hardcore gamer. If they didn't, they'd call him a loser. He won't bother arguing either way. He'd long since stopped expecting much from people, including himself.
Gaming was the one thing that had stuck with him.
From stealing his dad's phone as a kid, to sneaking late-night sessions, to finally building his own setup, it had always been there. And he was good at it. Really good.
Good enough that anyone who'd played even a few dozen games would recognize his username.
*Nevertouchinggrass*.
No matter the game, no matter the genre, he always ended up near the top of the leaderboard. More importantly, he had one rule he never broke: if he started a game, he finished it. No exceptions.
That rule was the reason he looked like this now.
The RPG *Crown of Death* had been sitting unfinished in his library for years. Not because it was difficult—he'd simply moved on to something else.
Until two days ago.
The company announced the servers were shutting down. Low player count. New project. The usual corporate death notice.
Abel took it personally.
So he locked in.
Eight days. No proper sleep. No shower. Barely any food. Just him, the keyboard, and the end of the game creeping closer.
And now, finally, the last boss.
A sharp *ding* cut through the room.
Then a voice echoed from his speakers.
"_The-rapist_ has donated fifty dollars: Bro, touch grass, please."
Abel's eye twitched.
"I thought I muted that damn chat," he muttered.
Anger flashed across his face, but he didn't move to fix it. This was the final phase. One mistake here meant death, a long run back, lost progress. He hadn't saved in hours, and he wasn't about to throw it all away over some idiot donation message.
So he ignored it.
Seconds stretched.
Minutes followed.
Ten passed. Then twenty. Then thirty.
His fingers moved on instinct now. Dodging. Timing. Waiting.
And then—
One final keystroke.
His character unleashed everything. A screen-filling attack. Light and sound exploded outward. The massive wolf staggered, then collapsed.
Victory.
The screen darkened. Music swelled. A triumphant message filled the monitor.
Abel leaned back in his chair.
For the first time in days, he smiled.
A small one. Tired. Satisfied.
His eyes slid shut as his body finally gave in.
The smile stayed.
And then he slumped sideways.
Quietly.
The room went still.
---
There was a saying Abel had once heard.
That darkness heralds everything, both the beginning and the end.
He'd never given it much thought.
Until now.
Darkness surrounded him. Thick. Endless. His senses were gone. All except one.
Coldness.
Constant and unforgiving.
Time passed, but not in any way he could measure.
Then he heard it.
A steady rhythm.
*Thump. Thump.*
Like a heartbeat.
Warmth followed. Wetness against his skin. He felt… exposed. Naked. Confused.
Was he underwater?
Before he could think further, his body moved on its own.
Pressure closed in. Crushing. Suffocating.
Instinct screamed at him to open his mouth and cry out.
He did.
Liquid flooded in.
He choked and snapped his mouth shut, panic spiking as his body was squeezed tighter, dragged through something narrow and unforgiving. His skin felt wrong. Too soft. Too sensitive.
Pain exploded.
Real pain. The kind he'd never known, not scraped knees or sore wrists. This was overwhelming, blinding.
His thoughts dissolved into white noise.
Then suddenly, the pressure was gone.
Light flooded in.
Harsh. Sudden.
Shadows loomed around him, everything blurry. Shapes moved, large, indistinct. A room, maybe. He wasn't sure.
A massive figure leaned toward him.
Fear surged.
He tried to move. Tried to protect himself. His body barely responded. It felt weak. Wrong.
Confused, he looked down, and what he saw made his mind go blank with shock.
Tiny body. Tiny limbs.
Understanding hit him all at once.
The darkness, the pain of being pushed through a narrow canal, this body.
It all made sense now.
But before he could fully process it, he felt himself being lifted into the air.
Voices followed.
"My lady, congratulations. It's a boy."
The language was unfamiliar, yet he understood every word.
"It is truly a blessing. The Goddess has favored House Wynnstar. The Count will be most pleased."
Abel's mind reeled.
Count. Goddess. House.
This wasn't Earth.
He had dreamed about this. Watched it. Read it. As a shut-in gamer with too much time and too many anime tabs open, the idea of being reborn in another world had been his favorite fantasy, something fun to daydream about during late-night gaming sessions and anime binges.
But experiencing it was very different. It felt unreal.
Before he could spiral further, another voice spoke.
"My lady, he is strong. He hasn't cried at all."
There was a brief pause.
Then pain exploded again.
A sharp smack landed on his backside, and Abel screamed without thinking.
So began his new life.
With the first thing he experienced being a grown-ass woman hitting him.