Thirty years old.
A traffic accident had left him with full-body paralysis.
He couldn't move a muscle.
He had endured that existence for over seven years.
Today, as always, the nurses approached and eased him into the capsule.
A patient model, it allowed simple searches via eye movements alone.
The first few months, he had wallowed in self-pity over his plight. Later, he tried to do something—anything.
He scraped together cash from online freelance gigs and even scribbled out stories inspired by his beloved fantasy novels.
But he had no talent for it. A full month's grind barely netted him 200,000 won.
The hospital staff urged him to quit. Unnecessary stress could worsen his condition, they said.
From then on, he dropped the money-making efforts and hunted for ways to simply kill time.
That's when he stumbled upon gameplay videos for the virtual reality game Illusion. From that moment, he was hooked.
Intrigued, he once tried downloading it and logging in. But the nurses and doctor swooped in, yanking him from the capsule and explaining the dangers.
Something about the capsule not recognizing full paralysis—making it risky. He didn't grasp the medical jargon, but naive as he was, he blinked in agreement.
To soothe the ache of being unable to play himself, he dove deeper into gathering Illusion intel.
He couldn't log in, but he could read player posts and watch their videos.
And so, bit by bit—inch by excruciating inch—he sank into an inescapable obsession.
Around that time, his imagination began to run wild.
What if I could play?
Which starting village? What class? What paths with late-revealed info?
Ways to get ahead. Efficient routes to catch top rankers. How viable are the new jobs?
He pored over player posts and videos, pondering endlessly.
Hundreds, thousands of cycles like that, filling the years of his wasted life with Illusion.
No job left unimagined, no strategy unexplored.
He devoured every scrap of info, simulating endless scenarios.
It was all he could do.
Time flew when immersed in Illusion-related content.
Even paralyzed, he didn't feel utterly cursed by life.
At least he had something to lose himself in.
Man, that looks so damn fun.
If only I could play it myself.
What to fantasize about next?
Lately, necromancer pulled him hardest.
Weak in raw physical power, but summoning hordes of monsters to overwhelm foes? Irresistible.
Not hugely popular, though. Raising them was hellishly tough.
Recent reveals gave it some shine, but player numbers still lagged behind promising classes.
Still, he couldn't deny the pull.
I want to try it. God, I want it so bad.
Seven years of restraint.
Seven years of watching from afar.
His patience was crumbling.
The doctor had warned him hundreds of times: never log into games.
Explained the risks, made him consent to a form absolving the hospital of liability—all via eye blinks, of course.
Family informed too.
Yet every day, he wrestled with it.
Just once. One login. One chance to move there. To feel free.
He shook his head.
No. Absolutely not. You could die. It's dangerous.
To quench the thirst, he fired up another video.
Gaming tech had advanced so far that dramas, movies, animations—all obsolete.
Why? Nothing topped VR realism.
Illusion delivered the ultimate thrill.
People couldn't live without it now.
TV featured rankers like celebrities, broadcasting their quest clears.
Guild wars, kingdom clashes, even continent-spanning battles.
Blissful chaos.
A world like that.
Everyone but him.
Look at this video. Impossible to look away.
How could anyone resist logging in?
As the torment deepened, his mother and sister's faces flashed in his mind. His father, dead from overwork.
What had they sacrificed for him?
Father gave his life. Mother and sister squandered theirs.
For a son with no hope of walking again.
And what was he doing?
Obsessed with a game, living vicariously. Reality be damned—still, curses bubbled up.
Damn it...!
Once the thoughts started, they crushed him.
Early on, it was fine. Family care felt natural.
But by year three or four, the weight hit.
When Father died, and Mother and Sis showed up haggard, lamenting life.
He realized: he was a crushing burden.
He began hating himself.
Sometimes thought: better off dead.
No more drain on them. They'd be free.
Time to stop bleeding money on hospital bills.
But suicide? Impossible.
Body wouldn't move.
Couldn't do a thing.
Perfectly cruel irony. A buried truth resurfaced: doctor's warning about game risks—possible death.
Why now?
Didn't matter. One thing clear: Illusion felt alien now.
Once envied, now a tool of death.
He shook his head.
I'm the crazy one.
Seven-plus years crippled—normal would be weirder.
Maintaining sanity this long was a feat.
Illusion made it possible.
Ding-dong.
Capsule opened. Nurse transferred him to bed.
Evening already.
Late-night family visit: laments of exhaustion. Chest tightened.
Nightmares loomed.
*
Half a year passed since realizing Illusion could be death's tool, not life's hope.
He withered fast.
Once, his eyes sparkled. Now, dead voids.
No drive. All futile.
Evenings with family faces deepened the void.
Their sighs had started sometime back.
"It's so damn hard these days."
"I want to forget everything."
"I hate living."
"I want to die... just die..."
They lived for him yet resented his survival.
Seeing that shattered him.
"Sob... ugh..."
One day, Mother wept silently.
The sobs dragged on.
Finally, he knew: time to act.
For new life.
Or death.
No regrets either way.
That day, capsule login: downloaded Illusion instantly.
Attempted connection.
First login in ages—hospital caught on late. Footsteps approaching faintly.
They'd pull him out.
Must connect first.
Once in, they wouldn't dare force-logout.
Too risky.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙
Would you like to connect to Illusion?
He signaled with his eyes.
Yes.
The world went black.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙
Scanning body.
Something was wrong.
His head throbbed viciously.
Ugh... ughhh...
His body convulsed. Seizure hit.
World blurred.
Consciousness...
When he opened his eyes again.
He had returned to a day eight years prior.