At first, Arthur was jolted awake by a thick, acrid smell, the kind that only comes from cheap instant coffee burned too long.
But his consciousness was still struggling to claw its way out of some chaotic dream, eyelids heavy as if filled with lead.
A headache, and a throbbing pulse at his temples.
He forced his eyes open with great effort, and his vision was nothing but a blur of shifting color.
A few seconds passed before the shapes resolved into an unfamiliar ceiling.
Not the ceiling of the rental apartment he knew, the one plastered top to bottom with all kinds of game posters.
This ceiling was a pallid white, unnervingly smooth, and in one corner he could even make out a small, spreading stain where water had seeped through, mapping out the outline of some unnamed territory.
His body felt stiff and sore, like he had been lying on something unyielding.
Arthur tried to shift, and the bed beneath him let out a long, protesting creak under the weight.
Not a bed.
That was when Arthur finally snapped fully awake. He shot upright.
He moved too fast. His vision went black for an instant, and it took him two full seconds to steady himself before he could actually take in his surroundings.
This was a... place that could, generously speaking, be called an office.
The space was small, barely twenty square meters, and the light was dim.
Against one wall sat a cluster of desktop computers, their monitors brand new, though tangled power strips and hopelessly knotted data cables surrounded them on all sides.
Across several foldable desks lay scattered unfinished concept art sketches and printed sheets covered in messy code.
There were also a few crushed drink cans.
In the corner, a pothos plant was hanging on by a thread, its leaf edges already curling and yellowing.
And he himself had just been curled up on the only piece of furniture in the office that could reasonably fit a person lying down: an old sofa with armrests so worn the foam was showing through.
Draped over him was a wrinkled jacket printed with some blurry anime character.
The memories hit him like ice water forced down his throat, surging into his mind and bringing with them a sharp, stabbing pain.
This world... was not his original world.
This body also belonged to someone named Arthur, the owner and lead designer of a small independent game studio.
The studio had a rather... grounded name: "Under the Stellar Sky."
And he, apparently, also had a nickname that was not exactly dignified, one that had circulated only within his university circle: "Captain."
But what made his heart seize up was the next wave of memories that followed.
Memories about the background of this world, about "games."
No miHoYo. No Honkai Impact 3rd. No Genshin Impact.
And certainly no Trailblaze Express cutting through the stars, and no Trailblazer aboard it.
All those worlds that had kept him up through countless nights, the ones that had made him laugh and cry, the ones he had poured untold hours and money into.
In this world, they did not exist. Not even a trace.
In their place, the mainstream of this world's gaming industry consisted of: realistic simulation management? Hardcore historical strategy? Or some endlessly reskinned mobile games with gameplay so shallow it bordered on insulting.
He, or rather the version of himself that belonged to this world, had spent every last drop of passion and...
Well, judging by the state of the office, probably a good chunk of his savings too, to build up this studio called "Under the Stellar Sky."
The team was small, but...
His gaze swept across the figures slumped or leaning at various points around the office.
At the desk by the window sat a young man with impeccable posture, his clean, sharp profile turned toward his screen as he stared at row after row of code with a furrowed brow.
Dan Heng.
Memory told him this was his college roommate, the most technically gifted person he knew. He was also one of the studio's core developers.
According to reliable inside sources (primarily shouted out by March 7th), Dan Heng had already quietly lined up his next position. He had even reserved spots for the Captain and everyone else in the studio, which made him practically a saint among men.
Beside Dan Heng, on the verge of face-planting into her keyboard, was a girl with gray hair that stuck out in messy, untamed tufts, her head bobbing lower and lower with each passing second.
Dan Heng. The original Arthur had lured her in with a speech so over-the-top it should have been illegal, something along the lines of: "We are here to forge an unprecedented galactic epic, and you are the single most essential star lighting the way for this studio."
Looking at things now, that guiding star was close to burning out.
Directly facing the sofa, March 7th, a girl with pink hair, sat with her chin resting in her hand, spinning her stylus between her fingers out of sheer boredom, glancing at her phone every few seconds. Her entire face announced: "Who am I, where am I, and when does this miserable shift end?"
She had been recruited by Dan Heng with the pitch: "They provide meals here (meaning sporadic takeout), and the boss spins some seriously compelling dreams."
Then there were the other three girls...
The memories that surfaced now carried far more complicated, layered emotions. Kiana Kaslana, Raiden Mei, Bronya Zaychik.
Officially listed as the studio's artists and planners. In practice, though...
Kiana was at that moment sprawled completely without dignity in another chair, headphones on, fingers tapping frantically at her phone screen.
Mei sat quietly beside her, an open sketchbook in front of her, but her pen had not moved in a long while. She was staring out the window, somewhere far away.
Bronya sat a bit further off in a corner, her silver hair framing a pair of slightly tired, lake-blue eyes fixed intently on her keyboard.
All three of them were childhood friends of Arthur's.
To be more precise, Kiana and Mei were the kind of girls whose families had actual multinational conglomerates waiting to be inherited.
Their reason for staying here was less about chasing a dream and more about... well, certain hazy fragments in his memories, and the occasional weighted looks they gave him, all of which pointed toward another possibility entirely: they were waiting for the Captain's studio to collapse, after which they would "reluctantly" scoop him up and take him home.
That arrangement would also, conveniently, settle a certain unresolved emotional question involving multiple parties.
Bronya's situation was a little different. Her love for games themselves seemed genuinely purer. But the studio's bleak current state was clearly weighing on her too.
Finally, his gaze landed on his own desk, its surface worn and patchy. Several documents lay scattered across it.
On top of the pile, the cover of one sheet hit him like a slap, its bold black characters searing themselves into his eyes:
"Preliminary Assessment of Asset Liquidation and Debt Evaluation for 'Under the Stellar Sky' Studio"
Underneath it were bank collection notices, a final eviction warning from the landlord, and a handwritten note in Dan Heng's characteristically terse handwriting, listing a few company names and contact numbers that might take them in.
The last entry had a small asterisk beside it, with a note: "This one has decent compensation. I've already made initial contact. Reach out anytime."
Bankruptcy. Closure. Dividing up belongings. Going their separate ways.