GameDev Reincarnated into His Own Creation

Giri left his apartment, adjusting the strap of his worn leather satchel. He usually took the train to work. Sure, he had his motorcycle, a sleek, black machine he loved to ride, but the train was just… easier. Plus, it gave him time to catch up on the news and watch his favorite Vtubers. He was currently obsessed with a certain white-haired shark girl who streamed everything from horror games to cooking streams, often punctuated by her signature "A!" and other adorable, if slightly chaotic, exclamations.

The crisp morning air whipped at his face as he walked towards the station, phone in hand, scrolling through his newsfeed. He paused at a small patch of green wedged between two towering buildings. A tiny oasis of defiance against the concrete. Was it neglect, or a deliberate act of green defiance? He wondered, a fleeting smile touching his lips. This habit of his—noticing the small, often overlooked details—was a double-edged sword. Insights and inspiration, yes, but also a constant stream of unnecessary questions. He continued walking, the question lingering in the back of his mind as he approached the station.

At the station, he swiped his IC card at the gate and headed for the platform. The train arrived quickly, and he found a relatively empty car. Perfect. He settled into a seat by the window, plugged in his earbuds, and launched the streaming app. The blue shark girl popped up on his screen, her cheerful voice filling his ears. Today, she was playing some kind of crafting simulator, excitedly showing off a lopsided house she'd built.

"It's… uh… structurally sound… probably!" she declared with a nervous giggle.

The cityscape blurred into streams of concrete and glass as the train departed. Soon it would pass the park - a welcome patch of green among the urban sprawl. He always enjoyed that part.

The train approached the park, and Giri looked out. The air vibrated with life: joggers puffing white clouds of breath, children's shrieks echoing by the pond, the slow, deliberate movements of Tai Chi beneath a massive, ancient tree. They said it had been there before the city itself, a silent witness to generations. The sight of it always brought a strange feeling—a sense of nature's overwhelming power and how short life felt against the vastness of the world.

He glanced at his reflection in the window. Same faded blue jacket, same plain white t-shirt underneath, same well-worn brown chinos, same reliable satchel. He wasn't wearing the exact same clothes every day, of course. He just had, well, several identical sets. It was all about maintaining that consistent character design, a habit he'd picked up from years of watching anime.

Then, a sudden thought struck him.

"Yesterday… I completely forgot to visit my father."

He winced. He'd have to go today, after work.

"It should be fine," he thought, trying to reassure himself. "I'll just explain things."

The train pulled into the station closest to SolarTech, and Giri joined the flow of commuters exiting onto the platform. He walked the short distance to the company compound. It wasn't a towering skyscraper, but it wasn't exactly small either—a modern, multi-building complex with a large, open courtyard in front. A steady stream of employees flowed through the main entrance, a mix of people from all walks of life. Young and old, dressed in everything from jeans and t-shirts to traditional outfits. There were faces from across the globe, a vibrant mix of complexions and features that spoke to SolarTech's expanding international reach. And then there were the others. The ones who arrived in sleek, black company cars, stepping out in impeccably tailored black suits. They moved with an air of quiet authority, separate from the rest.

Giri spotted Yuki among them, his dark suit standing out distinctly against the morning light. Yuki was talking on his phone, his expression serious. As Giri approached, Yuki ended his call and spotted him. He gave Giri a brief, almost apologetic nod.

"Giri," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Could you please take the next elevator? This will be quick."

Giri raised an eyebrow but nodded. He could tell by Yuki's expression that something was up. He usually wasn't this… flustered.

"It's about that call I just had," Yuki explained, lowering his voice even further. "The tech team in Kaito has run into some unexpected issues with the Sensory Immersion Pod prototypes. Apparently, there's a… compatibility problem. It could impact the pods here too."

Giri frowned, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach.

"A compatibility problem? What exactly does that mean for our progress?"

Yuki rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowing.

"They're not entirely sure yet," he admitted. "Something with the sensory feedback system. It's causing some unexpected reactions. Nothing dangerous, thankfully, but enough to halt testing. They're sending a team of engineers over first thing this morning to run diagnostics and implement a fix."

Yuki sighed deeply.

"Which means…"

"Which means my test is delayed," Giri interrupted, disappointment washing over him like cold water.

"I'm afraid so," Yuki confirmed, the frustration evident in his voice. "They hope to have everything sorted by this afternoon, so you should be able to test it then. I know how much this means to you, Giri."

He paused, then remembered something.

"Oh, right. Since you'll be going down to B2 later, I should explain how to get there. There's no direct button. You need to swipe your keycard, then press and hold the B1 button until it flashes and changes color. Then it'll take you down to B2."

The familiar hum of the "Game Evolution" floor usually energized him, a constant buzz of creativity and collaboration. Today, though, it felt… different. Slow. He glanced over at Kenji. Usually, Kenji was a human dynamo, bouncing in his chair, ready to launch into a detailed lecture about elven metallurgy or the proper way to brew dwarven ale. Today, however, he was unusually still, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared intently at his screen.

Just then, Giri's phone rang. He glanced at the screen. Unknown number. He almost ignored it, but something about the insistent ringing made him hesitate.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice slightly wary.

The voice on the other end was brisk and official.

"Giri Tran? This is a representative from the Heiwa Detention Center. We're calling regarding your mother. Her case has been reopened. We are currently working on it internally. She will have the same lawyer as last time unless she herself requests a change. There is no action needed from you at this time; we are simply calling to inform you of the status since you are the next of kin. If you have any further questions, you are welcome to visit our center."

The line went dead.

Giri stared at his phone, the official's words echoing in his ears.

"Reopened."

The word hung in the air, heavy and unreal. A chance. After all these years, a chance for his mother to finally be free. A flicker of hope ignited in his chest, quickly followed by a familiar wave of helplessness.

"I can't do anything. Not yet, at least."

Just like last time. He was on the outside, looking in, forced to wait and watch as the gears of the legal system slowly turned. He clenched his fist, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips.

"No action needed from you at this time."

He felt strangely numb, a coldness spreading through his chest. He looked around at his team. Kenji remained locked in concentration, oblivious. Hane, on the other hand, was subtly different. While her fingers still danced across the keyboard, her usual focused intensity seemed… muted, almost strained. Something about her felt off.

Worrying about it wouldn't help, not right now. Giri took a deep breath, pushing the news about his mother to the back of his mind. He needed to focus. He glanced back at Hane. Her brow was now furrowed in a deep frown as she rapidly scrolled through lines of code. He decided to ask her what was wrong.

"Everything alright, Hane?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Hane looked up, a flicker of frustration in her eyes.

"I'm stuck on this reward system," she said, gesturing to her screen. "I've set up all the triggers correctly. The event flags are firing, the database is updating… everything should be working. But players aren't receiving their rewards."

She pointed to a specific section of code.

"See? The reward function is being called, but for some reason, it's not actually distributing the items. I've checked the item database, the player inventories… everything checks out. I'm completely stumped."

Giri leaned closer, scanning the lines of code Hane had highlighted. He recognized the reward function; it was a fairly standard implementation, pulling item data from a database and adding it to the player's inventory.

"Have you checked the transaction logs?" he asked. "Sometimes, if there's a database lock or a timeout, the transaction might fail without throwing an explicit error."

Hane's eyes widened slightly.

"The transaction logs… I hadn't thought of that."

She quickly opened a new window on her screen, pulling up the server logs. Lines of code scrolled past, recording every database interaction. She scrolled through the recent entries, her eyes scanning for any anomalies.

"Here!" she exclaimed, pointing to a line. "Look, it says 'Transaction Aborted: Deadlock Detected.' What does that mean?"

Giri frowned.

"A deadlock. That's… tricky. It usually happens when two or more processes are trying to access the same database resources at the same time, and they end up blocking each other. It's like two cars trying to cross the same intersection at the same time – they just get stuck."

He paused, thinking. "It's probably happening because the reward function is trying to update both the item database and the player inventory simultaneously. If another process is also accessing those same tables, it can create a deadlock."

"So, how do we fix it?" Hane asked, looking hopeful.

"The simplest solution would be to implement some sort of locking mechanism or transaction queuing," Giri explained. "That way, only one process can access those resources at a time, preventing the deadlock. You could also try optimizing the database queries to be faster, which would reduce the likelihood of a deadlock occurring in the first place."

Hane nodded and typed notes with a smile. Giri's calm demeanor, which she admired, masked years of personal hardship that had taught him to suppress his emotions. She dismissed any romantic notions, preferring their current dynamic, too shy and afraid to risk changing it.

Giri nodded to Hane, the sterile office air suddenly feeling heavier. He stared at the scrolling code, wrestling his focus back to the task. The click of the keyboard was a hollow counterpoint to his inner turmoil.

A few hours later, an e-mail notification popped up on his screen.

—

Subject: Urgent: Sensory Immersion Pod Testing - Overtime Request

From: Yuki Tanaka

To: Giri Tran

Giri frowned. An email from Yuki, specifically addressed to him? That was highly unusual. He opened it.

Body:

Giri,

Due to unforeseen technical difficulties encountered by the engineering team in Kaito, the Sensory Immersion Pods will not be fully operational until late this evening. As the "Awakened" expansion deadline is rapidly approaching, we require you to conduct the scheduled testing during overtime hours.

Your participation is crucial to ensure the timely release of the expansion. Paid overtime will be provided for your time.

Please note that the nature of this testing involves highly sensitive pre-release content. Maintaining absolute confidentiality regarding the test and its results is of paramount importance. Please refrain from discussing any aspect of the testing with anyone outside this conversation.

Regards,

Yuki Tanaka Lead Project Manager

—

Giri stared at the email. Only him? And the emphasis on confidentiality… it felt like more than just standard procedure. He subtly glanced around the office. Kenji was still engrossed in his work, muttering to himself about some optimization issue. Hane was typing away, her brow still slightly furrowed. The others on his team were similarly occupied.

He took a deep breath, trying to appear casual.

"Hey, everyone," he said, raising his voice slightly. "Can you all check your emails? See if there's anything new about the Awakened project?"

A few heads turned, but most of his team simply mumbled acknowledgements and continued working. After a moment of checking, Kenji looked up, shaking his head.

"Nothing here," he said.

Hane paused, clicking through her inbox.

"Nope. Just the usual bug reports."

The others gave similar responses: "Nothing." "All clear." "Just spam."

Giri lowered his voice, a slight frown creasing his brow.

"Huh. That's weird."

He turned back to his computer, pretending to reread the email. He needed to talk to Yuki.

He stood up and walked towards the elevators. Yuki's office was on a different floor, a separate room rather than a cubicle like the rest of the team. When he arrived, the office was empty. The lights were off, and the usually cluttered desk was surprisingly clear, save for a few neatly stacked files.

Giri paused, a sense of unease growing in his stomach. Where was he? He glanced towards Yuki's assistant's desk, which was just outside his office. She was busy typing away at her computer, her brow furrowed in concentration.

He approached her cautiously.

"Excuse me," he said gently. "Have you seen Yuki?"

The assistant looked up, blinking slightly.

"Oh, Giri. He left a little while ago. Something about an urgent meeting with the higher-ups. He said he'd be out for the rest of the morning, possibly longer."

"Did he… mention anything about the Awakened testing?" Giri asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

The assistant frowned.

"Just that there were some… complications. He seemed pretty stressed. Why?"

"Oh, nothing," Giri said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just wanted to clarify a few things."

He glanced at the empty office - the tidy desk and closed laptop. It clicked. Yuki had sent the email from his phone, likely during the meeting. That explained the odd timing and personal message.

Thanking the assistant, he returned to his floor. He needed focus. With bugs to fix and a deadline looming, he had to compartmentalize as usual. Time to solve problems, not create them.

Back at his desk, he settled into his chair and pulled up the code he'd been working on. He tried to immerse himself in the familiar flow of logic and syntax, but his thoughts kept drifting back to his father. How was he going to explain missing another visit?

The morning passed in a blur of coding and debugging.

During the lunch break, when the office emptied out and the usual lunchtime chatter filled the air, Giri decided to make the call. He found a quiet corner of the break room and pulled out his phone. He dialed the number for the Elderly Home.

"Hello?" a familiar voice answered.

"Hi, Dad," Giri said, forcing a cheerful tone into his voice.

"Giri? Is that you? How are you, son?"

They exchanged a few pleasantries before Giri broached the reason for his call.

"Dad, I'm really sorry about missing yesterday. Work got crazy. And… I got a call this morning. From the Heiwa Detention Center."

A brief silence followed.

"About your mother?" his father asked, his voice now grave.

"Yeah," Giri confirmed. "They said her case has been reopened. They're handling it internally, and said there's nothing I need to do right now. But…"

"But it's brought everything back," his father finished gently.

"I still feel bad about yesterday," Giri mumbled.

There was a brief pause on the other end. Then his father's voice, warm and understanding, filled the line.

"It's alright, Giri. I understand. Work is important."

"Besides, there's nothing much to see here anyway. It's the same old routine. You didn't miss anything exciting."

"But I promised," Giri said, his voice laced with guilt. "I promised I'd be there."

"And I appreciate that," his father replied. "But I know how demanding your job can be. I used to be the same way, you know. Working all hours, always chasing deadlines. I understand what you're going through."

Giri was surprised. His father rarely talked about his own work life.

"You do?"

"Of course," his father chuckled softly. "I remember countless times when I had to cancel plans, miss family dinners, because of work. It's part of the job, especially when you're passionate about what you do." He paused, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

"Back in my day, it was blueprints and concrete, not lines of code. But the principle is the same. You pour your heart and soul into a project, and sometimes, that means sacrifices. Just promise me you'll take care of yourself. We can reschedule for next week?"

"I will," Giri promised. "Next week, definitely."

He hung up. Surprisingly, talking about his problems to someone he loved, someone who loved him in return, always brought this weird, light feeling in his stomach. It was as if a small weight had been lifted, just by sharing the burden. Whatever problems a family faced, the first thing you needed to do was talk. A big burden suddenly lifted in Giri's chest.

He leaned back against the wall of the break room, a small smile playing on his lips. He thought about his father's joke about the elderly home. It wasn't exactly a five-star resort, but it was home for him now. And he seemed content. That was all that mattered.

He exhaled deeply, relief washing over him as genuine relaxation set in. Eyes closed, he let the break room's ambient noise fade away.

"Maybe things would be alright. Maybe this time, things would be different."

Checking his watch, he saw he still had time. He headed for the coffee machine, that lightness still with him.

The afternoon went by in a similar blur of coding and debugging, but the lingering unease remained, a faint hum beneath the surface of his concentration. He found himself checking his phone more often than usual, half-expecting another call, but it remained silent.

Finally, the end-of-day announcement chimed through the office, signaling the end of work hours. A wave of movement swept through the "Game Evolution" floor as people packed up their belongings and headed for the exits. Hane stayed behind for a few minutes, focused on finishing up a particularly stubborn function.

Finally, with a sigh of satisfaction, she saved her work, stretched, and turned to Giri.

"You still here?" she asked, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Everyone's gone home."

She waved goodbye and was about to leave.

"Yeah, just… finishing up a few things."

Hane shrugged, giving him a small, knowing smile.

"Alright. Don't stay too late."

With a final wave, she turned and left.

Once the office was empty save for the low hum of the servers, Giri pulled out his keycard and headed for the service elevator—the only one that went to B2. He hadn't heard from Yuki; he was likely gone.

Giri swiped his card and pressed the B1 button, holding it down as instructed. The button glowed, pulsed, then shifted to a deep purple as the heavy doors creaked open.

The elevator was clean and well-maintained but felt distinctly unused. Larger than passenger elevators, it was clearly meant for equipment. As the doors closed, the familiar office hum faded into heavy silence. The air grew colder, and the descent to B2 was eerily smooth. A sense of isolation enveloped him in the cavernous space.

The doors hissed open onto a surprisingly spacious, brightly lit laboratory. Smooth white panels lined the walls, floor, and ceiling, contrasting sharply with the complex machinery operating along the left wall. Yet, despite the density of technology, the space was eerily quiet and impeccably organized. Giri's gaze swept over the equipment, pausing briefly on the flawless cable management.

"Now that's how you manage a complex system," he muttered, a flicker of professional appreciation crossing his mind. A short, narrow hallway led to several labeled rooms. "SIP," one door proclaimed near the end. His destination.

Giri took a deep breath, the sterile scent filling his nostrils. He glanced around the pristine lab, then back at the "SIP" door.

"Well," he muttered under his breath, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "let's hope this wasn't designed by Weyland-Yutani. I'm not in the mood for jump scares."

He reached out and placed his hand on the door's handle.

The first thing Giri noticed as he stepped inside was the temperature. It was freezing. The air was noticeably colder than in the lab outside, as if the AC had been turned down to its lowest setting despite the room being empty. He shivered slightly, pulling his jacket tighter around him. Some kind of cooling system to prevent overheating, he thought, his gaze drifting towards the pod.

The room itself was surprisingly small, just large enough to house the pod and a small workstation. The walls were the same smooth white panels as the lab outside, but here they seemed to amplify the coldness. To the right of the door, the Sensory Immersion Pod dominated the space. It wasn't the sleek, futuristic design he'd imagined. Instead, it resembled a large, reclining chair, almost like a dentist's chair, but significantly more bulky and complex. Wires and cables snaked out from the back of the chair, connecting it to a nearby computer, its screen displaying lines of complex code and technical readouts. Resting on the chair's headrest was the new headgear, a sleek, form-fitting design that extended down the neck, almost touching where the spine would be. Near the base of this extension were several small, circular sensors, looking like miniature laser emitters.

Giri took another step into the room, his eyes scanning the space. Besides the chair, the headgear, and the computer, he noticed a thin booklet resting on the small table next to the computer. He walked over and picked it up. The cover was a matte grey with a simple line drawing of the SIP. Awakened Expansion: SIP Testing Protocol v3.2. He flipped it open to the table of contents. The first few sections listed were dry, technical details: Chair and Computer Connection Procedures, System Diagnostics, Error Codes. He skimmed past them, his eyes drawn to the later sections: Subject Calibration, Sensory Input Synchronization, and Neural Interface Protocol. The last section, in bold, simply read: Initiating User Connection. A shiver ran down his spine, unrelated to the room's temperature.

He set the manual down and turned to the computer. The black terminal window and blinking cursor greeted him.

"Really? LineOS and no interface?" Giri muttered. He typed a few commands, finding the testing software. Before doing anything else, he decided to run a quick system diagnostic. He typed DIAGNOSTIC, and the screen filled with lines of text as the system checked each component. After a few seconds, the results appeared:

System Diagnostics Report:

Power Supply: Checked

Sensory Input: Checked

Neural Interface: Checked

Cortex Visualization: Checked

Olfactory Simulation: Checked

Auditory Simulation: Checked

Tactile Feedback: Checked

Vestibular System Check: Checked

Over Voltage and Surge Protection: ...

The system paused for a fraction of a second, the cursor blinking rapidly. Then, finally:

Over Voltage and Surge Protection: Checked

Calibration: Checked

All Systems Nominal.

Giri stared at the screen. "All systems nominal," he muttered, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. He glanced at the chair. It was already reclined to the correct angle, and the various straps and sensors were positioned according to the diagrams in the manual's setup section. Someone had set everything up for him. He typed LOGS and hit enter. The screen returned a surprising result: No Recent Activity Found.

"Huh," Giri murmured, a slight frown creasing his brow. Did someone set this up without actually running it?

He walked over to the chair, circling it slowly. Now that he was closer, the chair's curvature became more apparent. It wasn't a generic recliner; it was molded to fit a specific body shape, with distinct indentations for the hands, legs, and head. Certain sections of the chair were covered by smooth, plain panels, as if concealing sensors or other technology beneath. He ran a finger along one of these panels, noticing it was seamless and cool to the touch. It wouldn't surprise him if there were laser sensors underneath, similar to the ones on the headgear.

He turned back to the computer, a sense of mild curiosity lingering. Perhaps the logs had glitched or hadn't been properly updated. It wasn't unheard of with LineOS. He typed "Run Aeona --VR --SIP" and hit enter. The computer whirred softly, the hard drive clicking as it accessed the necessary files. Lines of code scrolled across the terminal window:

[19:57:22] Initializing Aeona VR Environment...

[19:57:22] Loading Sensory Input Modules...

[19:57:23] Establishing Neural Interface Connection...

[19:57:23] Checking System Dependencies...

Then the scrolling stopped. A new message appeared:

Standing by for S.I.P...

As soon as the message appeared on the screen, the metallic box beside the chair came to life. The blinking LEDs, previously flashing randomly, began to pulse in a rhythmic sequence. The red lights pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat, while the blue and green lights chased each other in a circular pattern. A low, almost imperceptible thrumming sound emanated from the box, as if it were drawing power.

Giri watched the display for a moment, then took a deep breath.

"Here goes nothing," he murmured to himself. He kicked off his shoes and walked over to the chair. He carefully positioned himself in the molded seat, making sure his hands, legs, and head rested comfortably in the designated indentations. The cool leather welcomed him as he lifted the smooth, dark headgear and placed it over his head.

The moment the headgear settled into place, something amazing happened. A translucent interface materialized before his eyes, as if projected directly onto his retinas. It was a clean, minimalist design, with glowing blue lines and icons floating against a dark background. Giri blinked, but the interface remained, perfectly in focus. He tried moving his head, but the interface stayed perfectly aligned with his vision, as if it were a part of him. He realized he could control the interface simply by focusing his gaze on different elements. No need to move a single muscle.

A message appeared within the interface: Headgear Pairing with S.I.P. and Aeonalus System... A progress bar appeared beneath the message, slowly filling from left to right. Once the process completed, the message changed to: System Ready. A final button appeared, flashing a vibrant blue: LAUNCH.

A wave of anticipation washed over Giri. This was it. He was about to fully submerge himself into the "Awakened" expansion, a world he created. He could barely believe it was finally happening. He focused his gaze on the flashing LAUNCH button, his finger hovering over the activation point.

Then, a faint sound reached his ears—a subtle creak, almost like a footstep just outside the room. Giri froze, his finger pausing above the button. He held his breath, listening intently. The pulsing lights of the box seemed to dim slightly in the sudden silence. But there was nothing. Only the low thrumming of the box and the faint whir of the computer. He waited a few more seconds, but the silence remained unbroken. "Probably just the building settling," he thought, dismissing the sound. No more delaying. He focused his gaze firmly on the LAUNCH button and activated it.

A jolt. Not the smooth transition he expected. The box whined, the sound rising sharply—a high-pitched scream of straining circuits. Then, pain. Searing, like a thousand needles under his skin, a powerful jolt ripped through him. Muscles locked, spasming uncontrollably. Electric! I'm being shocked! He knew this—the burning, the contractions, his heart hammering against his ribs. Every nerve screamed.

The pain intensified, a blinding pressure behind his eyes. His heart hammered, a frantic drumbeat against his chest. Gotta stop it… Adrenaline surged, a desperate wave. He threw himself forward, a futile attempt to break free. The straps held, biting into his skin. The headgear remained stubbornly in place. A bright spark—unseen by Giri—shot from the headgear's connection to the box.

His chest slammed against the floor, the impact driving the air from his lungs. Still, the current flowed, his body twitching in violent spasms. Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. The pain vanished, the buzzing in his ears faded to a faint ring, his muscles finally relaxing. Only the soft crackling of residual electricity remained. Giri felt nothing. Knew nothing. Nothingness.

To any observer: Giri lay still, headgear attached, a thin wisp of smoke curling from the connection point. The box's lights flickered erratically, then died, plunging the room into near darkness. Only the crackling persisted. Then, distant, urgent footsteps echoed closer. The scene faded to black.

Then, a gasp. Air… I'm breathing? Giri's eyes snapped open. Not to the sterile white of the lab but to a sky choked with dark, churning clouds. Rain lashed down, soaking him instantly. He lay on rough, damp earth, the smell of burnt wood heavy in his nostrils. Above him, a massive tree, its trunk split and blackened, smoldered faintly, wisps of smoke rising into the rain. Lightning… it must have been lightning.

He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain stabbed through his chest, forcing a groan from his lips. He turned his head slowly, taking in his surroundings. A hillside, a dense forest of tall, unfamiliar trees stretching down into a valley shrouded in mist. The rain continued to fall, a relentless drumming on the leaves and the earth. This isn't the lab. This isn't… anywhere. Panic started to bubble in his chest. Where… am I?

"Help!" he croaked, his voice cracking. He tried again, louder.

"Help! Is anyone there?"

The sound that came out was… wrong. It was his voice, yet not his. Higher pitched, younger, with a slight tremor he didn't recognize. It was like hearing a recording of his younger self, but distorted, not quite right. A fresh wave of panic washed over him. That's… not my voice.

He looked down at his hands. They were small, the fingers slender and uncalloused. He flexed them, surprised by their delicate appearance. He moved his legs, noticing they felt shorter, lighter. Everything felt… smaller. He looked at his arms, his legs, his torso. He was lower to the ground than he remembered. He felt a chill, not just from the rain, but from a growing sense of dread. He brought his hands up to his face, touching his cheeks, his forehead. His skin was smooth, almost unnervingly so. There were no lines, no roughness, nothing of the familiar texture he knew so well.

Suddenly, it struck him. A chilling, blunt awareness that caused his heart to race in his chest. This… this is the body of a child.

Giri rose unsteadily, a dull ache pulsing in his chest. On hands and knees, he swayed as the world spun in a disorienting swirl of green and grey. His body felt weightless, almost ethereal.

He looked down at his legs, thin and clad in simple, roughspun trousers. What am I wearing? He tried to remember… the lab, the chair, the headgear… the jolt. The shock… I was being electrocuted.

A wave of nausea washed over him, and he swayed, his vision blurring. He forced himself to focus, to think. The game… I connected to the game. That's it. This is the VR. It has to be. But the pain in his chest, the chilling realism of the rain and the forest, the sheer alienness of this child's body… it all felt too real. But I felt it… the electricity. I felt myself… dying. A shiver ran down his spine, despite the rain soaking him to the bone. Did I…? Did I die? Is this… the game? Or… is this something else?

He looked around again, the unfamiliar forest stretching out before him, a vast, impossible reality. If this is the game… then why does it feel so… real? Why does it hurt?

He tried a familiar gesture, a quick flick of his wrist and a mental command, the way he would open a menu in any VR interface. Nothing happened. He tried again with a different gesture, focusing harder, willing the familiar UI to appear. Still, nothing. A growing sense of panic tightened his chest. He tried shouting commands, his voice cracking and thin.

"Quit! Logout! Exit! Aeona, terminate!" The only response was the drumming of the rain and the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Giri stood still for a moment, the cold rain seeping through his clothes and chilling him to the bone. A wave of dread washed over him, heavier than the rain. He looked down at what he was wearing. Simple, roughspun cloth, a tunic and trousers that looked like they'd been pieced together from rags. Part of the tunic across his chest was blackened and charred, the edges frayed and crispy.

The pattern was clear. A dark, jagged scar on the fabric spread outwards like branches. Lightning. It hadn't just hit the tree. It had hit… me. The realization sent a fresh wave of unease through him.

He wiped his face, attempting to remove the rain from his eyes and alleviate the prickling tension that was rising with each raindrop. As he did so, another realization struck him. He blinked, concentrating on the trees in the distance. He noted the roughness of the bark, the way the rain trickled down the branches. No… no glasses. He hadn't perceived things so clearly since childhood. A peculiar, disorienting sensation enveloped him.

Despite being drenched and the oddity of his vision becoming more apparent, his thoughts started to churn. Different body. Unfamiliar place. Lightning strike. This is... problematic. He surveyed the woods, noticing a slender trail of smoke wafting up among the trees. Something's on fire... a blaze?

But before he could formulate a plan, a roar tore through the air. It was high-pitched, almost painful, yet with a deep resonance that seemed to shake the ground beneath him. Not a dinosaur's roar—something older, something far more terrifying.

"Crap!" he exclaimed, his voice faint and quivering. He forced himself upright, disregarding the stabbing pain that coursed through his chest. It had dulled to a mere throb, far less intense than the blinding torment of the jolt that had 'ended him?' Giri staggered forward, putting one foot in front of the other, trying to move as quickly as his small, untrained body would allow. The rain continued to fall, making the ground slick and treacherous.

The smoke, still visible through the trees, seemed to be his best bet. Smoke that high in this kind of downpour… it had to be unnatural. Possibly man-made.

His progress was slow and difficult. The hillside was steep and uneven, littered with fallen branches and slick, moss-covered rocks. His small legs struggled to navigate the terrain, and he stumbled more than once, his hands scraping against the rough bark of fallen logs. The pain in his chest throbbed with each step, a constant reminder of his ordeal. He had to stop every few steps to catch his breath, his lungs burning with the effort. This body… it was weak.

As he crested a small rise, he froze. What is that…? In a small clearing just ahead, a creature was hunched over something on the ground. It resembled a wolf, but… wrong. Its fur was coarse and matted, and a series of bony spikes jutted out from its neck, like some kind of grotesque mane. Defense? Or… weapons? They looked sharp enough to tear flesh. The creature tore at its meal with savage intensity, its jaws ripping chunks from what looked like a small, four-legged animal. Poor thing.

The creature's head snapped up, its snout twitching. It began to sniff the air, nostrils flaring. Oh no. Giri held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was downwind, but the rain… the rain might carry his scent. The creature took a step forward, its eyes narrowing. It sees me.

Just then, a blinding flash of light lit up the forest, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. A bolt of lightning struck the creature directly, sending a shower of sparks and smoke into the air. The creature stiffened, its body convulsing for a moment before collapsing to the ground. Did it... die? Giri didn't wait to find out. He scrambled back down the rise, his heart still pounding, and hurried towards the smoke, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the fallen creature.

"Let's not do something rash right now. Just keep moving."

The rain continued to fall. As he pushed through a thicket of ferns, he stumbled onto something unexpected: a narrow pathway, clear of grass and debris, winding its way through the trees.

One end of the path clearly led towards the smoke. Then, a jolt of recognition. Not his own, he realized with a shiver. This body remembered. A sudden image, vivid as a dream: the feel of the path beneath his feet, the sounds of voices echoing through the trees, the sense of others moving alongside him. He couldn't see their faces, couldn't place a single name, but the feeling… the feeling of belonging, of being part of something… it was intensely familiar.

He started walking. Each step felt heavy, his small legs already starting to ache. The muscles in his calves burned, a sensation he hadn't experienced in years. This body… it's not used to this. But something, a deep-seated instinct, a whisper in the back of his mind, urged him on. Almost there.

After navigating a short, steep slope, something came into view through the rain: a wall. Not a smooth, even wall, but one made of thick logs, their ends sharpened to points and jutting out in all directions. It wasn't a straight, towering barrier, but it was easily taller than two men stacked on top of each other. Impressive. He saw a gate, two figures standing guard, their postures alert. Beyond the gate, a tall watchtower loomed, its silhouette barely visible through the downpour.

Then, a shout. Distorted by the rain, but clear enough.

"Wait, it's him!" Another voice, closer. "Someone tell Mari, we found him!"

One of the figures at the gate broke away from the other and started running towards him. They were all wearing something like leather armor, he noted, but the two at the gate also had metal plates covering their chests. Not exactly standard-issue security gear.

The rain blurred his vision, but he kept walking to the gate, pulled by an odd sense of familiarity.

A figure reached him and stopped, touching his shoulder and arm. He looked up at a young face with wide, worried eyes.

Suddenly he was lifted, cradled against the guard's chest. He had no strength or will to resist, feeling oddly weightless.

As they neared the gate, the scene grew clearer. A campfire burned in the village center, its glow fighting the rain. Shadowy figures stood around it, including one tall person in a dark, hooded robe who watched their approach.

Then, a voice. A woman's voice, clear and strong, cutting through the sound of the rain and the crackling fire. It came from somewhere deeper within the village, but it was loud enough to reach him clearly. A cry filled with worry and… relief?

"Vel!"

Giri turned his head towards the sound. A young woman was running towards them, her long blonde hair tied up in a practical knot. She wore a simple, yet elegant dress of swirling yellow and white fabric—a style he'd seen somewhere before. That dress… The woman's face, though etched with worry and relief, was both strange and unsettlingly familiar. He felt a pang of… something. Recognition? Confusion?

The guard gently lowered Giri into the woman's arms. She held him close, her touch surprisingly gentle. He looked up at her face, searching for answers in her eyes. He didn't know what to say, what to ask. But a sudden certainty, a gut feeling, washed over him.

"Mom?"

The woman's expression softened, tears welling in her eyes.

"Vel! Where have you been?" Her voice trembled with emotion. "I've warned you about going near the Whisperwind Glade. You've had me worried sick! Your father's already gone out looking for you."

Giri could barely hear her now, his head feeling heavy, his eyelids drooping. The world seemed to be fading in and out. But he managed to get the words out, his voice barely audible.

"I… I got struck by lightning."

Then, everything went dark. The woman's voice, the rain, the fire… all faded into a muffled silence. His body gave in. Giri finally passed out.

---

End of Chapter 2