The air inside the courtroom felt heavy, as if every breath had to push through an invisible pressure. The room itself was vast, with a high ceiling and a large chandelier casting a pale, cold light that seemed to favor no one.
At the center of it all stood a man with his hands cuffed in front of him. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair unkempt, but his eyes were still alive, still trying to understand how everything had led to this point.
He slowly swept his gaze across the audience. No familiar faces. Not a single one that showed doubt. Only judgment.
Some looked at him with disgust, others with curiosity, and a few... with faint satisfaction. Someone whispered just loud enough for him to hear, calling him the man who murdered his own ex-girlfriend.
He let out a short breath and muttered under his breath, almost flatly,
"That's news to me."
The officer beside him shot him a sharp look, silently telling him to stay quiet. He didn't respond, simply shifting his gaze forward—to the judge seated high behind a large desk, his expression unreadable.
A thick file lay open in front of the judge. The sound of paper turning echoed too clearly in the growing silence. Then, the judge spoke.
"After considering all evidence and testimonies..."
The man swallowed.
His mind scrambled to piece together memories that felt like shattered glass—sharp, scattered, incomplete. He remembered his ex's face. Her laughter. Their last argument.
And then—nothing.
"...the defendant is found guilty of premeditated murder of the victim, who was the defendant's former partner—executed in a calculated manner after repeated prior threats and acts of violence."
The words weren't loud, yet they struck with crushing weight. He blinked—once, then twice—as if trying to steady himself. The corner of his lips twitched upward slightly, forming a dry, uncertain smile.
"Premeditated?" he murmured.
"I don't even remember planning anything."
A few people in the audience scoffed, dismissing him as a liar, as someone pretending to forget. He glanced at them briefly, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and irritation—as if even he wasn't fully sure what was real anymore.
But the judge gave no room for response. He simply raised the gavel.
"With this, the court sentences the defendant to death."
The sound of the gavel striking the desk echoed sharply through the courtroom.
Final.
For a moment, time seemed to slow.
The man stood still, his body stiff as the words repeated in his head.
Death sentence.
Not prison.
Not a second chance.
The end.
He tried to take a breath, but it wasn't enough. His chest felt tight, as if the air itself had thinned.
"Wait..." His voice came out quieter than he expected, uneven. "You're serious?"
No answer.
The judge had already closed the file. People in the audience began to stand, as if what had just happened was nothing more than routine.
"HEY!" His voice suddenly rose, cracking through the noise.
"I DIDN'T KILL ANYONE!"
The officer beside him grabbed his arm, forcing him to move. He resisted instinctively, but the cuffs made it pointless.
"The trial is over," one of them said coldly.
"I'M BEING FRAMED!" he shouted, his voice trembling between anger and panic. "AT LEAST LISTEN—!"
But no one stopped.
No one cared.
Footsteps drowned him out as people began leaving the room. The large doors at the end of the courtroom opened, letting in a blinding light from outside. He was dragged toward it, his steps uneven, barely controlled.
Just before crossing the threshold, he turned back one last time. The courtroom looked exactly the same as it had minutes ago—grand, cold, full of people. Yet now, it felt impossibly distant. Like it no longer belonged to him.
His lips moved faintly.
"I didn't do it..."
The doors slammed shut behind him.
The sound echoed down the corridor, swallowed quickly by the dull, suffocating silence of the prison. Heavy footsteps followed.
Firm hands gripped his arms, steering—no, dragging—him forward without a word. The world blurred into gray walls and steel doors, identical and unforgiving, as if the place itself had long forgotten the people inside it.
Another door opened.
Another shove.
The prison cell was smaller than he expected. Cold metal. Bare walls. A dim strip of light buzzing overhead. He dropped onto the bed, cuffs clinking softly.
Click.
Then the door unlocked.
Footsteps followed—calm, measured.
A man in a pristine suit stepped inside, completely out of place. He opened a file, barely glancing at it.
"Kael Virex. Scheduled for execution."
"…Yeah," Kael muttered. "Got the memo."
"I'm here to offer you an alternative."
Kael tilted his head. "…To dying?"
"Yes."
Silence lingered for a beat.
Kael let out a short breath, then shook his head faintly.
"...Please listen to me sir! You've got the wrong person," he muttered. "I didn't kill her. I don't even remember anything from yesterday!"
The man didn't react.
Didn't even blink.
Kael's brows tightened, frustration slipping through. "I'm serious," he added, voice lower now, sharper. "I don't even remember how it happened. Doesn't that bother you at all?"
A pause. For a moment, it almost felt like the words might land. They didn't.
"It doesn't change the verdict," the man said calmly. Flat with finalty tone. Kael stared at him. Something in his chest tightened—not anger, not fully. Something closer to helpless disbelief.
"…So that's it," he said quietly. "You don't care whether I did it or not."
The man met his gaze without hesitation.
"No."
A beat.
"We only care about what comes next."
Silence settled between them—heavier this time.
Kael looked away, jaw tightening slightly.
"...Yeah, and what is that exactly?" he muttered under his breath.
"You'll be transferred into a controlled world," the man continued.
"A city. Safe. No monsters."
"…And outside?"
"Monsters."
Kael exhaled softly. "…So I perform, they watch, they donate, I live." The man gave a faint nod. "In simple terms."
"…And if I say no?"
"You die."
Silence.
Kael looked at him for a long second.
Then leaned back slightly.
"…Yeah."
A quiet breath.
"…I'll play."
A pause.
The man smiled.
"Good."
He tapped lightly on the side of his wrist.
A soft beep followed. For a split second—nothing happened. Then—A low hum filled the cell. Kael frowned. "…You hear that?"
Thin lines of light flickered to life along the walls—faint at first, then brighter, forming a grid that pulsed in steady intervals. The air grew warmer, heavier, like static building before a storm.
Kael pushed himself up from the bed. "…What did you just—"
"Stand still," the man said calmly.
The hum intensified.
The light grid tightened, converging toward him.
His cuffs vibrated slightly.
"…Yeah, that's not happening—"
A sharp tone cut him off.
BEEP.
The light snapped inward. Everything froze—Then compressed.
His vision fractured into shards of white and blue, like data breaking apart mid-transfer. His body felt… pulled. Not physically—but digitized. Stripped down to something lighter. Thinner.
"Wait—!"
The floor vanished beneath him.
Darkness swallowed everything.
[System Initializing…]
Sound returned first.
Wind.
Distant noise.
Then light.
Kael's eyes snapped open. He wasn't in the cell anymore. Stone beneath his feet. Open sky above. Buildings—tall, unfamiliar—stretching around him in every direction.
A city.
Alive.
But wrong.
"...The heck... You've got to be kidding me."
A faint blue screen flickered into existence in front of him.
[Participant Registered: Kael Virex]
[Location: Safe Zone – Central City]
[Broadcast System: Active]
More lines appeared.
[Viewer Count: 0]
[Donations: 0]
[Survival Rating: F]
Kael stared at it.
Then slowly looked around.
People.
Others.
Not frozen. Not confused.
Moving.
Living.
Some walked past him without a second glance, their expressions bored, as if nothing unusual had just happened. One guy leaned against a nearby pillar, casually talking to no one—or rather, to something only he could see.
"Yeah, yeah, I read your chat," the man muttered, eyes half-lidded as they scanned something invisible in front of him.
"No, I'm not wasting coins on that trash. Relax." A faint blue screen flickered in the air—gone as quickly as it appeared.
Another group stood near a row of shops, exchanging items. Metal clinked. A small pouch changed hands.
"Prices went up again," one of them said.
"Blame the viewers," another replied. "They keep feeding the top players."
Laughter. Casual. Tired.
Further ahead, a woman stretched her arms before heading toward the massive gates in the distance. She paused briefly, glancing at Kael—then looked away, uninterested. Like she'd seen this exact scene a hundred times before. Kael frowned slightly.
"…New arrivals happen that often, huh."
No one answered.
No one cared.
At the center of it all stood him, on what looked like a circular stone platform—an altar. Faint lines etched into its surface still glowed softly beneath his feet. A spawn point. Realization settled in, slow and heavy in the same time.
"...So this is normal?"
His brows drew together slightly.
"Holy shit."
He swallowed, glancing toward the distant gates.
"...Let's see what kind of show you want."