Chaos theory is a real jerk.
Now, don't get me wrong, the math is sound. Small flap of a wing, big storm somewhere else—yada yada. But its existence basically proves that one tiny, brain-fart of a decision has the power to absolutely nukes a person's destiny.
"Sweetheart?"
And that is why it's garbage. Well, for me, anyway.
To put it in layman's terms: I've made some questionable life choices. The kind of choices that lead to...this. You know how there's always that one specific thing you can point to? Mine was installing that wretched app.
[ Heroic Hustle: Ascendance ]
It's your typical "prestigious school for overachievers" trope. It's got the usual cocktail of hormonal teenagers, trauma-dumping side characters, and enough clichés to choke a horse. It's a decent enough way to waste time.
Except for the part where I got sucked into the screen.
Does that even follow the laws of physics? Can a human being actually be kidnapped by a motherboard just for playing a game? I'm completely clueless. Was it a bored deity with a twisted sense of humor, or did I just love the protagonist a little too much? Who knows. I finished the game, watched the credits roll, felt that hollow sense of accomplishment, and went to sleep.
The next time I blinked, I was breathing 4K resolution air.
"My darling. Are you daydreaming in there?"
I stayed silent. If I play dead, maybe the plot will realize I'm boring and go away. Please, for the love of all things holy, just leave.
"I know you're lurking behind the wood, dear. Open the door before I lose my manners."
"..."
"I've already checked with Matron Mildred. You've got zero lectures today. You are officially free to be bothered."
"..."
Absolute stalker behavior. I need a restraining order or a trapdoor.
"Fine. Giving me the silent treatment until the heat death of the universe?"
A weary, dramatic sigh drifted through the wood.
"Alright, I'll just delete the door and let myself in."
This absolute nutjob...
Before I could even process the threat, a blade of pure, concentrated "Get Rekt"—a sword so dark it looked like a literal hole in reality—pierced through the door of my private quarters.
Now, the dorms at the Aurelian Grand Conservatory are built to survive a siege by caffeinated monsters. They aren't supposed to be flimsy. But this terrifying woman just sliced through reinforced oak like it was wet 1-ply toilet paper.
"...I'm pretty sure that's a felony according to the handbook."
"The Discipline Committee handles handbook violations. It just so happens I *am* the Discipline Committee Chair."
She's not even hiding the corruption.
The woman sheathed the void-blade into a scabbard that was just as goth as the rest of her outfit. She was dressed in head-to-toe "funeral chic," which really made her pale skin and long, bone-white hair look like she'd never seen a vegetable or the sun. Her crimson eyes were the only splash of color in her entire monochrome existence.
Add in that "I own your soul" noble aura, and you've got a visual I couldn't forget if I tried. Believe me, I've tried.
"I'm here because we need to chat. You've been dodging me like the plague lately."
"..."
"That was... attempt number thirty-two, by the way."
"...Are you seriously keeping a spreadsheet?"
I replied flatly, desperately trying to find an exit that didn't involve jumping out a window.
Eris Vane, the High Arbiter of the Aurelian Conservatory.
She's basically the school's "Golden Child" if that child was also a lethal weapon. She's top of the class, a menace with a blade, and the daughter of Grand Duke Malakor. A literal supernova of status. A bottom-tier, background-filler freshman like me should have had a better chance of winning the lottery while being struck by lightning than ever making eye contact with her.
At least, that was the plan. If the universe hadn't tripped and fallen down a flight of stairs.
"..."
Ideally, staying as far away from this woman as humanly possible was the only way to ensure I didn't end up as a footnote in a tragedy.
Disturbing images started buffering in my brain—flashbacks to the "Official Art" and high-res cutscenes from the game.
I saw a blood-soaked Eris standing atop a literal mountain of ribcages, her void-blade dripping. Eris, with those glowing red eyes, leading a parade of eldritch nightmares and demons through a burning city.
The vibe was consistent: she wasn't just "mean," she was a world-ending catastrophe in a pleated skirt.
The game's lore wasn't subtle about it. She's the Ultimate Calamity of this digital realm. If the main hero doesn't successfully nerf her by the final chapter, she's scheduled to turn the entire planet into a giant charcoal briquette.
A walking nuclear warhead like her should have just walked past an NPC like me without even loading my textures.
"You know exactly why I've tracked you down. Though, at this point, talking is a bit redundant."
Her voice was like ice cubes down the back of my shirt. It was too late.
The butterfly had flapped its stupid wings, and now I was caught in the resulting tornado. Her crimson eyes locked onto mine, and she tightened her grip on her sword's hilt. The air in the room got so heavy I felt like I was being sat on by an invisible elephant.
She opened her mouth, her tone dropping into a range that usually precedes a boss fight.
"I'll ask you one last time, Cyprian Thorne."
The storm had arrived.
"Will you marry me, or do I have to make it a hostage situation?"
"..."
Seriously...
My brain was currently doing the "blue screen of death" trying to process a question that was so simple, yet so profoundly cursed.
Cyprian Thorne. That's me. The heir to a pile of dirt in a region so remote it's not even on most maps. A freshman nobody. A literal "Grade-D" extra meant to fill out the background of classroom scenes.
And here I am, being proposed to by the woman who is destined to delete the world's save file in three years.
Talk about a red flag. A world-ending, sword-wielding, gorgeous red flag.